


May The Witch Guide Your Soul

by threecheersfortheblackparade



Series: Random Danger Days Fics [10]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, literally just me venting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:27:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26430385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threecheersfortheblackparade/pseuds/threecheersfortheblackparade
Summary: Anything they do makes everything worse. Sometimes they wonder what its like, to not destroy everything with a single touch, to not corrupt the pure and ruin the great.But then they stop. After all, daydreams are for children, and they havent been able to be a child for a long, long time.
Series: Random Danger Days Fics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908487
Kudos: 7





	May The Witch Guide Your Soul

**Author's Note:**

> kobra- he/him  
> party- they/them  
> this is shit but im suicidal and therapys expensive but fanfics free lol

They’re hiding behind what looks like a decrypt, abandoned lorry, trying to make themselves disappear into the scenery as a couple of armed dracs patrol the area.

He’s scared, they know it. They know _him_ , and the years they lost to Bl/Ind haven’t changed that one bit.

The Kobra Kid is trembling, hands over ears to block out the non existent noise. Party wants to hold their brother, offer meaningless words of comfort or just simply be there, but they know that it would only make everything worse.

Anything they do makes everything worse. Sometimes they wonder what its like, to not destroy everything with a single touch, to not corrupt the pure and ruin the great.

But then they stop. After all, daydreams are for children, and they havent been able to be a child for a long, long time.

* * *

They survive, somehow. 

A fellow zone runner, a nameless, faceless joy wandering through the deserts in search of salvation, took pity on the two. Xe left them far, far away, in an empty diner in zone six.

The Kobra Kid had gone to hide. He did that sometimes, contouring himself to fit into the smallest of spaces, as though They couldn’t find him there. Party understood that. Understood wanting to disappear when things got too much.

They were sitting just outside the diner, (the sun having been obscured by the building itself), and was now waiting for kobra. It didn’t feel right to go inside without him there. So they didn’t.

The sky was nearly as dark as the witch’s feathers when they saw it. A blade with a bloodstained wooden handle, lying on the road, covered with a thick layer of dust and sand.

Carefully, almost reverently, they picked it up and cleaned the blade on their sleeve. They stared at it for destroya knows how long, in awe of the rusted metal and of the possibilities it promised.

Party shoved it into their pocket before their brother came, and the two started their exploration of the place.

That was the first night they cut.

* * *

The kobra kid was mostly silent nowadays. 

He was never that talkative anyway, but since It had happened, he’d gone. Retreated further and further into his mind, into a world of comfort and safety with friends who understand you and siblings who don’t leave.

He would sit in his chair, staring out of the cobweb covered, shattered glass window. He sat and watched, with empty, lightless eyes, powerless to stop himself from falling.

Once a year he would walk to the front of the diner. 

The witch would be watching, no doubt. Every year she came, without fail, to witness the event. To stare blankly as the joy destroyed himself. There was nothing she could do. She didn’t even try.

The kobra kid would climb onto the wooden decking. Wait.

The bloodstains would still be still there, dark crimson splattered across the floor. He never looked at those.

Instead, he would pick up the blade that had been dropped there all those years ago. He would take a minute to trace the ugly red lines with his finger, a terrifying calm taking hold.

The fresh scarlet would mix with the dried blood of his ghosted sibling and the kobra kid would smile a weak, soulless smile.

_The Redhead and The Rattlesnake. May the witch guide your soul._


End file.
